Bridges to Cross
by reine Seele
Summary: Sequel to "The Space Between." Loki is back in Asgard, but is he really home? In questioning himself and others, he comes to realize that he is not as lost-or despised-as he believed. But where does he go with this knowledge? T for some language & humor.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I promised everyone that I would write a sequel, and so here is the first chapter of _Bridges to Cross_. This is a continuation of _The Space Between_ and deals with Loki's relationship with the people around him. I enjoy happy endings, so while this will definitely have some angst, it will have a happy ending. I promise that. Also, this is mostly bromance. I haven't finished this story yet, so posting it is kind of a risk, since I have a habit of not finishing things... But I _will_ finish this, I promise. I also don't know where it's going. I know how it's going to be written and what the last chapter will be about, but not how it will end. So wish me luck. **

**As always, I hope everyone enjoys reading and I hope you review because I love knowing what you thought (even though it's not necessary).**

**The title is taken from "Which Bridge To Cross (Which Bridge To Burn)" by Vince Gill. A beautifully melancholy song-have a listen!**

**I own nothing because Marvel already owns it, and I certainly don't make any money; I'd quit my job if I did.**

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><p><strong><span>Bridges to Cross<span>**

**1. Frigga**

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><p>The chatter was too much for him. The mindless, ceaseless, increasingly loud chatter of heroes and hero-worshippers nettled away at his mind like a hammer against grindstone. He just wanted to get away, just for a moment, even though he had promised his mother he would attend the celebration. It was a quiet party compared to the way the hall was usually filled to bursting with Aesir, just family and intimate friends, just those who knew him and understood; just those who were willing to forgive and forget, he later told himself. Loki did not disillusion himself with the hope that his life would return to normal. He was neither blind nor stupid, and he saw the way the others looked at him when they thought he wasn't watching. He had seen Balder staring, had seen Sif hold back a laugh at his expense. His own father barely said a word to him…the man who had <em>pretended<em> to be his father.

Only Thor paid him any mind, but Loki thought that perhaps his brother could not help himself, as they had been seated right next to one another. At the thought of the smiling, blonde brute, Loki's heart softened a little. He couldn't blame Thor, or be angry with him at this moment. He owed his brother, more than he had ever been debt with another before, and he knew that now, at least, if there was one man in all the Nine Realms he could count on, it was the man who stilled believed himself to be his big brother. Loki dodged a rather exuberant slap aimed at his back by heavy-handed Fandral and quickly excused himself, for he just remembered he had left something important in his room and needed to fetch it, and please, don't everyone get up, he wouldn't be gone very long at all, just a few moments and please carry on with your feasting and drinking.

Loki left the party, slipping out through one of the side doors, as silent and stealthy as his own shadow. He left the palace altogether, swiftly descending its hundred steps and sneaking his way past the guards and into the stables. He felt comfortable there, especially when he could be near his son. Yes, his son, Sleipnir, an eight-legged horse. He had pocketed an apple from the table earlier and had been keeping a sharp eye out for the opportunity to escape; he knew he would not be missed and that the dapple colt would appreciate his presence more than those who falsely claimed to be his friend. After all, Thor was busy telling stories from their youth and the Warriors Three were constantly engaged in contests to see how much mead they could imbibe before passing out (the victor of which was almost always Volstagg); Sif and Balder were caught up discussing battle formations and sword fighting techniques, and Odin simply watched it all. The only person in the entire room whose eyes he had felt on his person the entire time was his mother's and she had only recently retired to her room.

Now he stood in the middle of the darkened stables and held his hand aloft, flames licking his fingertips from the small fireball he crafted to light his way. He was as alone as he could possibly be in that moment and it felt like a cold swim after a hot day. Loki walked down the stable hall, not making a sound and leaving no trail, even in the soft dirt of the ground. His light cast deep shadows as he walked, waking some of the more restless horses. A couple of them neighed gently, but none cared much that the Trickster roamed their home, and went back to sleep, flicking their tails against their broad bodies to discourage flies. The stall at the end of the stable contained his prize, and Sleipnir was already dancing about in a restless jig, whinnying shrilly. Loki hurried forward and put his light out, hushing the colt as he did so.

"Shhh, there, there," he said quietly, holding out his empty hand and smiling when Sleipnir pushed his velvety little muzzle right into the center of his palm.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get out to see you sooner," Loki apologized as he let himself into the stall. "Mother insisted I at least _try_ to have some fun."

His tone clearly indicated that he had no fun at all while crammed into a spot between Thor and Fandral, and he eagerly shed his black jacket he had been encouraged to wear, spreading it on the ground and sitting, cross-legged, on top. He magicked his light into one of the empty lamps hanging from a hook near the wall, and it cast a nice, easy glow over the small stall. Sleipnir skirted around him, knocking against his back with knobby knees and sticking his nose into Loki's sleek, dark hair. He laughed, genuinely amused with his son's curiosity, and patted his fuzzy cheek. The colt banged his head against Loki's hand and clumsily lowered himself to sit down beside the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his mother. He stretched his long neck out across Loki's lap and heaved a sigh that was all too reminiscent of an overexcited child reluctantly laying down for a nap.

"I have brought you something," Loki teased, stroking Sleipnir's soft ears with one hand as he pulled the apple out of his jacket pocket. A knife appeared in his other hand with a flick of his wrist, and he slowly cut a small piece, careful not to give his son too much, as it would be bad for his stomach. Sleipnir sniffed at the piece of fruit and gingerly took it from Loki's fingers before crunching away.

Loki pet the colt's neck affectionately and watched him chew, a strange feeling of longing overtaking him suddenly as he was struck with the terrible What-If thought he had been ignoring for the past few days. Ever since he and Thor had returned from Jötunheim, he had wondered—briefly, mind you—what it would be like to care for, and raise a child that he himself had given birth to. The thought often brought forth a hollow feeling in his chest and Loki, feeling he already had more than enough to worry about without daydreaming about Things That Could Have Been, banished his son from his mind…only to have him return again at the end of the day to plague him in his already restless sleep.

He had tried to stay away from the stables the first couple days, after he had gifted Sleipnir to Odin. It was easier than facing the fact that he was frightened; did his son even realize who he was? Had his potential as a man been dulled by the guise of a dumb animal? If not, did he understand why Loki did the things he did, to protect him? Giving him away, to Odin no less, had been a last minute, cleverly devised idea, for it would allow him to be near his son for at least a little while longer, until who knew when. Thor, however, had asked him _why_ he had given Sleipnir away, so readily and easily after swearing to never let him become a mere beast of burden.

"Which part of that did you think was easy for me?" Loki had asked in confidence. It had nearly killed him to hand over the rope end to the stable master, and his guilt consumed him until finally he could stand the shame no longer and snuck out to visit Sleipnir. The colt had been more than happy to see him, and he had been making a nightly trip ever since. Let the others laugh, he often thought while curled up on the ground with his son, as he was now. Few could brag about accomplishing what he had, and though Thor was the only one who truly _knew_, Loki felt proud nonetheless. Sleipnir was his _son_, and nothing was going to change that, not Hel, not Odin, not Ragnarok.

"Loki?"

He scrambled to his feet, slipped against the hay, and all but toppled over the door trying to get out of the stall before whoever called his name came around and saw him cuddled up to a colt. The surprise occurred when Frigga rounded the corner, still clad in her brightly colored gown and wearing her wheat-colored hair in a pile of curls atop her head. Loki hung against the door and lowered his head, cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment at having been caught by his own mother, and, in turn, having been startled by the kindest, most gentle woman he knew. Frigga held a finger to her lips as she floated forward, pushing a little laugh back at the sight of her son trying so hard not to melt into the ground.

"Did I frighten you?" she asked playfully, tweaking his nose when she reached his side.

"No," Loki mumbled, standing straight and refusing to meet her eyes. "I was just not…expecting anyone to come out here so late."

"And why wouldn't I come check on my son?" she asked, smiling up at him. "When I returned, you had left your seat. I was just worried…"

"That I had run off again?" he asked, swallowing a heavy lump in his throat.

Her hands were cool against his forehead, soft against his scalp. He wanted to fall asleep against her as he had when he was a boy, amid all her silken gowns, her sweet perfume, and her soft, smooth skin. He couldn't understand why she was being so kind to him, after finding out he had purposely tried to kill Thor. Of course he had heard the much used term that a mother's love endures all, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it, not under his circumstances. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, despite himself. She wasn't even his real mother…

"Yes," Frigga said, answering his question with a sad smile as she moved her other hand to his shoulder to brush away some hay clinging to his dark shirt. "I knew you like to come down here, though, so I followed…I hope you aren't angry with me, dear."

Loki took hold of her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm and then one against her wrist, as though he couldn't stop his body from disagreeing with the thoughts raging about in his mind. How was he supposed to just push her away? She was the one person, besides Thor, who had always been there for him, but unlike Thor Frigga didn't try to patronize. She listened. She was good at listening, and she let him speak; when she had something to say it was never negative and she always said her piece in a way that made him feel loved and accepted. She never treated him any different from Thor, but gave both of them equal amounts of her affection and attention. She used to say that Thor was her Sun and Light, but Loki was her Moon and Stars. He craved her love and even though he knew she wasn't his mother, she was someone he could still turn to in times of need.

"Never," he said, honestly, "I could never be angry at you. I was just…sitting with the colt. He is restless at night. I keep him company."

"Of course you do," Frigga said, setting her hand on the gate. "May I?"

Confused but not about to dissuade his own mother, he opened the gate for her and took hold of her hand, inviting her in. Sleipnir looked up and flicked his tail, rotating his ears as if contemplating getting up. Frigga looked down at him, the same gentle smile on her face, and when Loki looked at her he couldn't for the life of him figure out what was going through her mind. Why had she followed him? Surely not just because she was afraid he'd run away, and especially not since he had promised her he would stay and try to make things work out between himself and Odin; he had yet to speak with the All-Father though, and perhaps that was why she was there.

"He is beautiful," Frigga said, stretching her hand out toward Sleipnir. He stretched his neck in response and nuzzled the tips of her fingers, nibbling with thick, soft lips as he tested her. "Where did you find him?"

"On Jötunheim," Loki said, standing close.

His heart beat nervously in his chest. Surely his mother couldn't have known what happened in that icy, dark cave? Surely she wasn't _that_ gifted? The way she pet Sleipnir did nothing to calm him. Her hand flowed smoothly from the colt's jaw all the way down his fuzzy neck and to his quivering little rump. His son seemed eager enough for her touch, as if he knew Frigga was his grandmother. The thought, though a little unsettling, meant at the very _least_ that Sleipnir was more intelligent than he appeared. Loki swallowed and avoided the sharp, knowing gaze his mother fixed him with. If she were to look into his eyes, he felt, she would instantly see every thought he had ever had.

"A long way to find such a _unique_ foal," Frigga said, kneeling in the hay to sit next to the adorable creature nibbling her fingertips. "Was he all by himself? What about his mother?"

_I am his mother_, Loki wanted to say. _He was __**not**__ alone and he was protected! I gave birth to him! Me! I did it!_

The words would not form themselves on his tongue. He couldn't confess, no matter how much he yearned to. Why was she even here? She was _not_ his real mother; why did she continue to pretend to care for him like this? Yet, he could not stop himself from thinking of her as _his_ mother. He was confused, he supposed, confused and tired. Come morning, he would have an answer for everything. He sat down next to Frigga and set his hand against Sleipnir's side, patting him as if he were only mildly interested in the colt's origin.

"Alone," he said, "in a cave…I do not know about his parents."

"It's a good thing you found him, then," she said, "otherwise, who knows what would have happened to him?"

His skin prickled and his mouth felt dry. He was called Loki Silvertongue, the Liesmith, Sky-Walker, and Trickster, and he was known throughout all of Yggdrasil for his ability to talk and charm his way out of every situation…and yet with his mother sitting next to him, talking in that quiet, knowing way of hers, he felt his tongue turn to lead and his words become foolish. How could he expect to trick her?

"You always loved animals," his mother said, completely ignoring Loki's discomfort. "Do you remember? How you always used to bring them home after playing in the woods?"

"Yes…"

"Oh, child," Frigga cooed, her gentle laughter like the tinkling of tiny, fragile bells, "you used to scare me nigh unto _death_ with some of the creatures you set in my lap. A toad, a serpent, a baby _dragon_…how you found some of them, I'll never know, but you always brought them to your room and tried to hide them from your father and brother, but _not_ before showing me first."

She smiled and leaned over to pat Loki's cold, pale hand with her own, pink and warm.

"You are so unlike your brother," she soothed, "always so quiet and contemplative. You're shy and sweet, and you read so much. I remember when you used to hide yourself away in the library all night long. I'd find you curled up in a corner with a blanket, a candle, and a book."

She laughed happily at the sweet memory, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Loki forced a grim smile on his face.

"I had to carry you back to your room…. I miss those days. You were so small, and so easy to hold. Now I can scarcely wrap my arms around your shoulders, and you've gotten so very tall I have to stand on my toes just to kiss you."

Loki's smile dropped and he slowly extracted his fingers from her grip, drawing them between his legs, hiding them. Frigga watched passively, though her lips twitched downward for a split second.

"Sweetheart…"

"Why you would ever want to kiss me," Loki said softly, "I'll never know."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"That I am _not_ your son," Loki said, refusing to meet her gaze. "You are not my true mother at all, and you know this. Everything is so different now; I do not know how to cope with it….Why do you pretend to care about these past memories as if nothing has changed between us?"

The look that crossed Frigga's face was, at first, indescribable. Her mouth parted in a tiny 'o' and her eyebrows knit as tightly together as if they longed to become one. For a moment, he was unsure why he had just said the things he had. To what purpose? Did he truly enjoy causing pain? He watched and steeled himself against the tears he suspected she would manufacture, but they never came. He should have known Frigga had more mastery over her emotions than that, for even when he had first returned she had cried for only a moment before putting on her best face and smiling for the remainder of the day. Now she merely looked at him with a confused, hurt expression that he didn't quite know how to interpret

"You truly believe that?" Frigga eventually asked, in a soft, melodic voice that made Loki pause. "That I am not your mother?"

"I am Jötun," he said, as though that was the final word in the matter.

"Yes," Frigga said, "you are. Do you think, then, that you deserve to be loved any less?"

"I do not deserve _your_ love," he insisted, drawing himself up and raising his chin. "You have no need to show me affection, no reason to continue pretending I am of any relation to you…you think I don't know what it is you are trying to do, even now? You think I care anymore? After all I've done to you, lying, trying to kill your _true_ son, destroying Jötunheim, threatening Asgard itself by granting the Frost Giants access…how can you justify your _love_, when all I've ever done is cause you _pain?"_

His voice grew louder and louder until he was near shouting. Sleipnir whinnied and rolled onto his side in his haste to retreat, but Frigga laid hold of the colt's neck and held his head against her, stroking his ears as she waited for Loki to come down from his self-induced rage. She remained calm and in control of her own emotions and didn't try to interrupt her son. Even she could see that this outburst was a long time in coming…perhaps long overdue. She also suspected that _she_ was not meant to be the true receiver of his altogether cruel and thoughtless words, but she had neither the heart nor the desire to stop his ranting. She waited while he devolved into a more controlled diatribe, complaining about things that had happened too many years ago—times when he had received punishment and Thor had not, times when his achievements had been overlooked in favor of Thor's, and, of course, the fact that he was just as worthy for the throne, if not more so, because he was smarter and wilier and he was far more learned, perhaps not in the art of war and battle, but well enough to run an entire kingdom.

By the time Loki was out of breath his cheeks were red and his eyes were wet, but he still refused to let himself show any outward sign of weakness. He saw pity in her eyes, pity for _him_ and he knew that he had not reached her. She still thought him to be some poor orphaned little boy who needed a mother. She thought him scrawny and pathetic and so much _less_ than Thor. Why wouldn't she just _give in _and admit to him that she despised what he was? What more did she want from him? How else was he to prove his worthlessness to her? He would show her that he was not the weak little boy she seemed to remember with such fondness. He would remind her that he was not the smooth, creamy-skinned child she had coddled and nursed as though she had given birth to him.

Without really _thinking_, he summoned his magic and exhaled slowly; his breath turned to mist and the temperature in the barn dropped suddenly. Frost formed on the hay and crept up the wooden stall all the way to the rafters in the ceiling, dripping long, thick icicles pointing at their heads. Sleipnir let out a shrill whinny of terror, possibly remembering Jötunheim, and Frigga shivered. Loki's eyes rolled back as his skin began to turn blue, the dark, cool color sweeping over his pale skin and repainting it, turning him into a monster. The color swept up his neck and over his cheeks like a perverted flush, passing over his forehead and reaching back past his hairline. He closed his eyes against the swift, prickling sensation of his skin changing color, and when he opened them again they glowed crimson in the dim light. Frigga could not hold back a gasp, and the small noise she made only made Loki bare his teeth in a savage grin.

There, he had it. Proof that she thought he was a monster, proof that she was frightened of his true appearance. Of course, he could never be loved by anyone unless it was in the guise of one of the Aesir. He never fit in before, and he wasn't going to do so for a moment longer.

"Why are you doing this?" his mother asked as the frost crept up her skirts, stiffening them and chilling her skin.

"Why not?" Loki asked, chuckling. "It is my heritage. Why shouldn't I act as my kind oft does?"

"Not that," Frigga said, shaking her head, "never that…I mean, why do you…why do you attempt to push me away? My son…you've been cold ever sin—"

"I am _not_ your son!"

"_Yes_, you _are_," Frigga said, narrowing her eyes a bit. "You listen to me, Loki Odinson, I want to make something very clear to you: you are my _son_ and I am your _mother_. That is something that will never change, no matter _what_ you do."

"How can you _say_ that?" he asked.

"Because I raised you."

"I wasn't even _yours_ to begin with!"

"Loki," Frigga sighed, pressed her fingers to the side of her head, "I know you don't want to hear this right now, but you're wrong. About many things, my dear, but especially about me. Will you please listen to what I have to say? Grant me a brief audience, just this once, and I promise I will leave you to your solitude if you still don't believe me."

Loki considered it for a moment, looking down at his hands. They were so very blue, dark and cold, with indigo nails and strange, ritualistic lines etched across the backs, so foreign and hateful. How could she ever love him? He wouldn't sit there and listen to her spin more lies…and yet he was curious. What could she possibly say that would cause him to change his mind? Did she have some magical trump card that she planned on using? He nodded his consent, settling back down on the floor and withdrawing the effects of his magic. The frost retreated and the stall slowly returned to its previous warmth. Loki's skin remained blue.

"When Odin brought you to me," Frigga said, seeing that her son was willing to cooperate, "he told me right away who and what you were…and I admit, I was hesitant at first to take you in. The war had taken a terrible toll, on _both_ sides, and we had no great love for the Frost Giants. But then…when I took hold of you…you were just so _small_, I couldn't believe you were Jötun. You cried and cried because you were so frightened and hungry, and when I held you, you reached for me as if you _knew_ who I was. You needed me, my dear, sweet son. You needed me and so I was there for you."

"You had no obligation," Loki said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're right," she said, with a slight, graceful shrug, "I didn't. I didn't have to do anything; I could have refused Odin's request. It would have been an easy thing to do and no one would have blamed me. But no one knew. It was a secret between my husband and me."

"Then _why_ did you keep me?" Loki howled, sitting up on his knees so suddenly he frightened Sleipnir right into the corner of the stall where he stood, shivering and whinnying with his tail tucked close and his ears flat against his head. Loki blanched immediately, regret washing over him. He had scared his own child…did Sleipnir see him as a monster now, someone made of loud, angry noises and a frightful appearance? He tried to call the foal's name but the word faltered on his lips and he sank back down, clenching his fists atop his thighs and wishing he had remained on Jötunheim. He could have taken care of himself and his son without interference and without having to worry what others thought of him. He wouldn't be here now, lost and confused, angry and uncertain. He would be home, the one world he rightfully belonged to.

"_Why_ would you want a Jötun?" he asked, whispering the words to himself, as if he had his own answers. "Why would you _care?_ Odin said I was meant to bring the two kingdoms together; I wasn't even _meant_ to be king of Asgard, I was just a _tool_ for Odin to use in cementing his authority. I have been tolerated all these years, never accepted!"

"No," Frigga said, bridging the space between them and grasping his cold, dark hand in hers. The rest of her body soon followed and their knees knocked as she reached around Loki's neck and brought him into a tight hug.

"No, never, _never_ that," she whispered, stroking his cheek and pulling back to look him in the eyes. His blue pigmentation slowly gave way to his usual pale hue on the spots where her fingers touched, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Oh my poor son," Frigga said, sweeping a few locks of loose hair back over his head. "My poor, sweet boy, is that what you think? Is that what you've been led to believe? It's not true, my love. You are no mere tool, or some political gain. You are our _son_. Your connection to the Frost Giants was never on our minds while raising you. Only when you came of age did we begin to discuss those possibilities open to us, but you were _never_ a tool."

"But why would you—"

"You _needed_ me!" Frigga exclaimed, cupping Loki's face. "You needed my warmth and care, you needed a family, and you needed my _love!_ I was not about to abandon an innocent, young babe with no one else to care for him! You were…_so_ tiny, fragile, and sick. You would have died had we not taken you in. I gave you everything I had. I nursed you myself, set you in my bed to sleep, and called you my son. I sat by your side through every childhood illness, every scrape and bruise—I was there for it! I lent you my shoulder when you had a need to cry and my ear when you couldn't still your tongue; I witnessed every year you lived, laughed, grew, and loved, and I was so proud of so, so very, very proud of the handsome young man you became. I'm _still_ proud of you, just as I am still your _mother_. I will _always_ be such."

"I am Jötun," Loki said stubbornly, his bottom lip wobbling as he fought to remain as in control as he could.

"That matters not," Frigga cooed, wiping his angry, stray tears away from his cheeks. "What form you choose to take makes no difference to me, for in my eyes you will _always_ be my son. You know this already, don't you? Do you love Sleipnir any less because he is a foal?"

Loki flinched. Damn. She knew then. His mother knew Sleipnir was his son. Of course she knew, she knew everything, how did he ever think she _wouldn't_ somehow find out? His cheeks flushed pink, forcing the last of his blue coloring back, and he gave a half-hearted nod.

"Of course I love him," he whispered. "He—he is my son."

"Is he any _less_ your son because he is not Aesir?"

"No…no, he is still my son."

"As it is with Sleipnir, so it is with you, my darling. I do not care that you were not born of my own body because you became a part of my _soul_. I do not care that you are not like the others. You are creative, brilliant, sweet, thoughtful, and loyal, and those are qualities I hold most dear. I don't care that you are dark-haired and fair-skinned, that you are neither as tall nor as sturdy as your brother. You are handsome, you are strong, and you are very much capable of taking care of yourself. There is no doubt in my mind that you are capable of ruling this kingdom as well as your father and brother…maybe even better."

"You are only saying that," Loki choked.

"No, I am not," Frigga said, squeezing his hand. "I have forgiven you for the wrongs you committed, and though it is difficult, I think I understand—in part, at least—why you acted as you did."

"You…forgive me?" Loki asked, stupefied. "But, I have not even apologized…"

Frigga laughed and leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose.

"You do not need to," she said. "You can rest assured that you will _always_ find forgiveness in me, for I will _always_ be there for you, no matter what."

Loki was silent for a long while, unsure of what to say. He hadn't expected this sort of reception at all, not even from his own mother. She called him sweet and loyal, and though he was unsure about the latter he appreciated her words all the same. His heart ached from Frigga's compassion, but it was a good ache, a healing ache. He pressed his hand to his heart and fisted his shirt, as if he could tear the organ straight from his chest to inspect it. It hurt. It throbbed. It breathed with a life of its own and the pain was excruciating. He would have willingly offered it up to his mother on a silver platter if she had so desired. She deserved more than that, but he had little else to offer. He had never felt so indebted before, and his gratitude must have showed on his face, for Frigga pulled him close again so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap as he used to do when he was a child. Sleipnir finally calmed from his fright, snuck back over and reasserted his position next to his parent, curling up beside him and resting his head across Loki's stomach. He felt warm, earnest tears slip free from his eyes and descend down the side of his face to stain Frigga's skirts. He made a swift move to wipe them from his face, but his mother stilled his hands.

"Let them fall," she said. "It is good to cry every now and then; it means we are still capable of feeling."

And so Loki lay there and allowed himself to cry for the first time since Jötunheim. He sobbed silently, turning his face to her skirts and hugging her waist. His shoulders shook as he curled in on himself, drawing his knees up and making himself as small as humanly possible. He had never felt so, so humbled in all his life. To know this one woman, this one _exceptional_ woman loved him, loved him enough to forgive him for the terrible things he had done was more than he could bear to hear. He was a cruel man; he did not deserve this…and yet here she was, proving him wrong. Defying him. Frigga rubbed his shoulders as he cried, whispering soothing words to him, singing soft songs she once used to lure him into the arms of sleep. He rewarded her efforts with his own whispers, thanking her, weaving a spell for her that would never die, never diminish, a spell that would ensure that no matter where she went, a brightness would follow that could never be extinguished by cruelty or ignorance. Loki's tears soon dried and he stopped sobbing, stopped whispering, though he remained firmly buried within her skirts like a little boy trying to hide from the world.

"You are a most astounding woman," Loki said, eventually. "Your benevolence is…all-consuming. I feel unworthy of this kindness you have bestowed on me. "

"You are a most talented young man," Frigga praised, running her fingers through his hair again, massaging his scalp to soothe him. "I believe you could charm the stars from the sky if you so desired."

Loki rested his hand on Sleipnir's head, scratching him behind the ears in apology for his behavior and for frightening him. He felt…at peace, if he believed in such a thing. His chest, which had been weighed down with guilt, bitterness, and anger, felt lighter, and he could breathe a little easier. His mother still loved him. She loved him and she forgave him, and he knew now that to her, at least, he was not some monster taken in out of pity and the desire to merge the Frost Giants and the Aesir. He was still her son, her _darling_ son, she had said, and he was welcome in her arms. It gave him confidence, empowered him, and inspired courage. He would be able to face Odin, he thought, when it finally came time to do so.

"I am afraid I still do not understand why," he admitted after another moments thought. "Why is it that you still see me as you used to? Why haven't you despised me?"

"Have you heard of the mortal saying about a mother's love?" Frigga asked, smiling down at the young man resting in her lap. "How did it go—a mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."

"I suppose it is a very accurate description," Loki agreed, taking hold of his mother's hand and pressing another firm kiss to her wrist. "A very wise mortal must have said that."

"You mean a very wise mother," Frigga corrected, pulling on his ear. "You know I love you. Never doubt that again, ever."

"I won't," Loki promised. "I love you as well. You have given me hope when all I have done is give you pain."

"It is a boy's duty to cause his mother pain," Frigga quoted again in a solemn tone, "the pain begins with labor and never ends."

"Who said that?"

Frigga smiled mysteriously and ruffled Loki's soft, black hair.

"I did."

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><p><strong>AN: Voila. I am still not completely happy with this chapter, but if I keep looking at it I am going to drive myself insane.**

_"A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."_**-Agatha Christie**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well, this took me a while. This was probably the hardest thing I've had to write to date. As a small warning to readers, I am of the Unpopular Opinion that Odin is actually a good dad, and Loki just really overreacted about finding out he was adopted. Now, if you want to go by Comic-verse, then yes, Odin is a jerk. Movie-verse Odin was nothing but wonderful and Anthony Hopkins. Anyone who is really interested in my thoughts on the matter, send me a note, I am _more_ than happy to discuss theories with you.**

**I also want to apologize for this chapter, as it is not as streamlined as the last. I was able to keep more on the line with Loki's POV because of how I write Frigga, but Odin is just so different that I was forced to share the chapter with his POV and Loki's. If it's too confusing to follow, I apologize and will attempt to fix it.**

**Thank you all for being so patient with me! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and I can promise two more on the way!**

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><p><strong><span>Bridges to Cross<span>**

**2. Odin**

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><p>"Father wants to see you," Thor said, knocking on Loki's door even as he pushed his way inside the room.<p>

Loki looked up from the book he was reading, a sour expression on his face as his brother invaded his privacy. He stood in the middle of his room, naked except for the cloth he had tied about his waist. Chalk and tar drawings littered the floor around his feet, candles covered every available surface of his room, and he had draped thick black curtains over his windows to cast the room in complete darkness. A huge book rested in his arms, crusty and yellow-paged, reeking of gut-rot and marred with questionable stains. Bookmarks of feathers and twigs and bits of beaded twine stuck out from between the pages at odd angles where Loki had marked certain spells he wanted to revisit. Runes marked his wrists and fingers, drawn in imp's blood with the tip of a raven's feather; he had draped an amber circlet over his dark hair; a long silver strand fell down between his eyes, and a beautiful droplet rested on the bridge of his nose. It fell to the side and rested on his high cheekbone as he turned his head and caught Thor staring. The situation would have been far more humorous had it not already happened a hundred times before.

"The idea of a closed door," Loki drawled, "is that one must knock in order to gain entrance, _not_ as he is already inviting himself inside."

Loki watched as Thor's face reddened and as he forced his gaze up from the floor. Loki raised an eyebrow and snapped the book shut, certain he wasn't going to be able to get any work done while Thor was around. The blessing in this, he supposed, was that his brother's presence no longer caused him distress. He felt the their relationship had healed in a sense—having one's brother help you give birth would do that, he thought. Even so, he was still aware of the fragility of their bond, even if Thor wasn't. His brother acted as though nothing was wrong, as though nothing terrible had happened between them, but Loki could not forget so easily. He thought, with some amusement, that he was beating himself up a little too much. Loki offered a grim smile, the best he could give under the circumstances, and set his book down on the end of his bed. As much as he wanted to test his new spell out, he knew his brother's presence was not due to Thor's desire to socialize.

"What does Father want?" Loki asked, capturing Thor's attention again.

"I do not know," his brother replied, "but I believe it's urgent. I would dress and hurry to the throne room if I were you; Mother awaits your arrival as well."

"They have been speaking about me," Loki said sourly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I hate surprises. They know this."

"If they have been speaking about you behind your back," Thor said, leaning against the doorframe, "it is only because they love you. I know you don't believe Father, but couldn't you at least try to trust Mother? I thought you spoke with her just a couple weeks ago—"

"I _did_. Father is…different."

'Different' was an understatement. Many people who were close to the royal family believed Loki harbored little love for his family. He was so very different, cold and aloof and indifferent. He was soft spoken, quick-witted, and poison-tongued. Very rarely did he offer public displays of his affection for other members of his family. He was most often known to hug Frigga, kiss her, sleep with his head in her lap; it was no small secret that they were close. However, the popular opinion still reigned, that Loki despised his father and brother. Could the Aesir glimpse into his memories, however, they would see how very wrong they were. Some of his fondest memories were of spending time with Odin and Thor. He could easily recall fond moments spent in his father's lap, listening to old war stories and adventures as he and his brother waged a silent battle to see who might fall asleep first. There had been hunting trips, scouting and play-fighting, sparring and horse-riding, and even that horrifying moment when Odin had pulled him aside to explain what it meant for a man to bed a woman. All in all, Loki's childhood had been fairly happy.

Of course, rumor and speculations were often based on some kernel of truth, and the truth most of the whispers took hold of was that Loki and his father tended to butt heads more often than not. Then, of course, there was the obvious, with Loki's betrayal and subsequent flight to the furthest reaches of the universe. With the Bifrost all but destroyed and Jötunheim in critical condition, all of Asgard had come together to prevent the icy realm from coming undone. The hurt left by Loki's actions could not be forgotten. Demands for his blood were made and when Odin refused to comply all of Jötunheim threatened war. Conflict was only avoided when Odin broke the news that his youngest was lost to him forever. Such a loss was deemed punishment enough, and another tentative treaty was formed between the Golden City and the Icy Realm. Many believed that Loki's supposed death was for the best. When he returned, everything changed and both Odin and Frigga worked tirelessly to ensure that news of their son's reappearance didn't reach the council leaders who ruled Jötunheim in absence of their king. The risk of war was a constant focus in the minds of the royal family.

Loki was very aware of the problem at hand. Ever since he returned it had been strongly recommended by some of the court advisors that it would behoove him to confine his movements to the castle for the time being, at least until some sort of peaceful solution was made between Asgard and Jötunheim. If the Jötun found out that he had returned and wasn't being punished for his actions nearly two years prior… Loki had no qualms about remaining inside; he preferred the comfort of his books and trinkets, the solitude offered him by his room and the enormous library two floors down. Also, and it almost pained him to admit it, he preferred the proximity of his brother and mother. Frigga was, of course, a large part of his support, but Thor was the one he felt closest to. This was a man he had known his whole life, who had always been be his side, through better and worse, who had never lost faith in him, who had hunted him down in the dead, icy hills of Jötunheim, who didn't judge him, who _forgave_ him his crimes and loved him regardless. Whatever that meant to anyone else, he didn't care. Loki held onto that ideal Thor painted for him and clung to it as if he could somehow absorb it into his very being, and through the process, become the man his brother thought he was. It was the only reason he allowed Thor to walk into his room unannounced.

"Different though he may be," Thor said, "he wishes to speak with you. You know you worry far too much; it's not good for you. You will be old and gray before you are fit to be married!"

"I have no desire to marry," Loki sighed. "I just wish that Father would speak _to_ me if he wishes to speak _about_ me. I would happily answer any questions he might have."

"Perhaps you should tell him that…_yourself_, when you go to see him. Hurry and dress, I told Mother I'd bring you."

Loki rolled his eyes and quickly found his clothes, which he had neatly laid out on the end of his bed. He dressed quickly while Thor politely waited outside the room. He washed the runes off his hands and then pulled on a pair of fingerless gloves when the stains were still apparent. He pulled on a long sleeve black tunic and a green and silver vest over, buttoning it in seconds. He tucked the tail of the tunic into his pants and buckled his belt, and then pulled on his long overcoat. Checking to make sure he had forgot nothing (_Shoes, Loki, don't forget shoes_), Loki exited his room and locked the door behind him. He felt anxious and upset without knowing the nature of the problem at hand; he didn't even know if there was an actual _problem_, or if Odin simply wanted to speak to him. For Thor he offered up a serene smile and spread his arms, turning around for scrutiny.

"Do I meet the standards of the court?" he asked.

Thor chuckled and reached out, pulling the amber circlet from Loki's head. Before his brother could stop him, he had also ran his hand through Loki's soft black hair, slicking it back and tucking stray ends behind his ears. He normally claimed to despise physical contact, but it couldn't be further from the truth; he thrived on simple affection. As Thor's hand slid through his hair and smoothed over his scalp, Loki closed his eyes and hummed, leaning into the touch and allowing his neck muscles to slacken. Frigga was the only person whose touch he tolerated on a regular basis, but Thor was special. Thor's touch was welcome, calming, and warm. Loki allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the pampering as if he didn't know when his next chance would be. His dark head rolled to the side and Thor laughed, ruffling his hair for a moment, knowing full well what it was his brother was after and indulging him like a boy with a favorite pet.

"You look every inch the prince you are," he said, settling his heavy hand on Loki's shoulder.

Loki smirked and plucked the offending appendage from his person, though he really didn't mind its weight. Thor's sentiment was sweet, though misguided. He was just a large, lovable, loyal oaf who refused to see the obvious. It wasn't his fault he didn't know…and if Loki had his way, his brother would _never_ know. It would be better for him to remain in blissful ignorance than find out Loki was a Frost Giant; better for him to believe and hope in the good he seemed to find in everyone than to find out his dear little brother was one of the very monsters he had once promised to slay. Loki tried to tell himself it was out of love that he hid these things from Thor, but he knew, deep down, his reasons were selfish, as they always seemed to be. He was selfish, spiteful, and frightened—the realization and recognition made him sick, but he put forth his best face for his brother, who was, as usual, unaware of the dark thoughts crowding Loki's mind.

"You had better escort me to the throne room," Loki said, "before I decide to change into a starling and escape."

Thor took hold of his brother's wrists and pulled him close, almost pinning him against the wall as he laughed. It was as if they were boys again, playing. Loki felt a thrill run through him, a wild rush of joy that swept away all his worries and transported him back to carefree days spent chasing Thor around the palace and being chased in return, hiding, climbing, and being absolute _terrors_. He wished he could transport himself back to those wonderful days, when their father had loved both of them unconditionally, back when neither one cared about kingship or thrones, when they could scarcely sit still during their boring, royal lessons, and when everything seemed to be perfect. Loki wished they were young again, back before he had become so aware of the differences between himself and Thor. Before he had known the truth.

"I would not let you escape so easily," Thor was saying when Loki refocused his attention. "I have a gilded cage to keep you in should you try to slip away from me."

A shared laugh eased Loki's nerves and he allowed Thor to lead the way into the throne room, even though he knew the way himself. The heavy, ornate doors were already opened but the guards normally guarding the way were nowhere to be seen. Silence reigned throughout the hallway and Loki could see Odin sitting in his seat with Frigga resting against the arm. Their father's hand rested on Mother's thigh and he squeezed affectionately, making Frigga laugh and place her arm around his shoulders. Thor made a face as though disgusted, but smiled and cleared his throat as he announced his entrance. Loki kept close, offering a sweet smile for Frigga, who left her husband's side and glided down the steps to slip her arms around his waist. Loki hugged her back and kissed her on the cheek, genuinely glad to see her. He hoped she would remain; facing Odin had never been part of the issue because Loki knew it was inevitable. He simply did not want to face his father alone.

As Loki looked up toward the throne, he found himself unable to read Odin's expression. The All-Father was a strong man with a strong will. Thick, white hair fell to his broad shoulders and framed his aging face; he looked so very regal and wise, sitting up there on his throne, so high and mighty… Loki did not bother to try and prevent those traitorous thoughts from surfacing. Loki could not help but feel intimidated in the presence of this larger-than-life figure. After hugs and kisses had been dispensed, Odin stood up and thumped his staff, Gungnir, against the floor. Thor, Loki, and their mother stood at attention.

"As much as it brings me joy to see my family together once again," Odin said slowly, letting his gaze fall upon each of his sons, "I must ask you to leave, Thor. What I have to say to your brother is of a private matter."

For a moment, for one _glorious_ moment, Loki thought Thor would rebel. His expression certainly said as much, with his clenched jaw and hard glare. Loki watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to say something in defiance, waiting for him to stand up to the All-Father and say 'no'. The moment never came, though, and Loki was shocked when his brother smiled grimly, placed his fist over his heart, bowed, and then left the room. Two years ago would have seen a completely different Thor. Two years ago he would have demanded to be included in the discussion, would have argued until he got his way, and would have stood his ground by Loki's side. More often than not such foolish displays of bravado made Loki roll his eyes and whenever Thor got _away_ with it, then it made him angry. Now he had Thor giving in to Father's demands without a fight and he wasn't quite sure how to feel. Proud, certainly, for it meant his brother was growing up, but it also made Loki just a little bit sad. He had hoped he would have Thor by his side as well…

He watched Thor walk out of the room and could find no words to halt his progression. His tongue felt stiff in his suddenly dry mouth. Loki felt his mother's hand slip into his; she gave his fingers a firm squeeze and rubbed his arm, turning him toward the throne. He felt alone and persecuted. His heart thumped painfully and he drew in a deep breath to calm himself. At the foot of the stairs he dropped to one knee and rested an arm on his other leg. He could feel Odin's eye on the top of his head, scrutinizing him, judging him, and perhaps despising him for the trouble he had caused. Odin had acted happy to see his son return from the self-imposed exile in Jötunheim, but since then the relationship between father and son had been somewhat strained. Loki felt rejected and ignored. He had had high hopes after his successful reconciliation with his mother, but Odin was nothing like Frigga. In fact, at times, Loki wondered how his parents managed to stay together for so long when they were so completely different.

"Stand up," Odin commanded. Loki obeyed reluctantly, folding his hands behind his back and staring up at the All-Father with something akin to disdain flaring up in his eyes. Frigga took hold of his arm, biting her lip, perhaps worried because she had seen the look on her son's face.

"Do you know why I called you here?" his father asked.

"To punish me," Loki answered.

Odin nodded gravely and Loki felt his mother's grip on his arm tighten. _Hold on, son,_ he imagined her to be saying. The thought was comforting.

"Do you understand why it is I must punish you?"

"Because of my crimes against Asgard. Because of my crimes against Jötunheim and Midgard. Because I have disappointed you, embarrassed you, and brought bloodshed upon the hallowed grounds of our forefathers. Because I am a traitor…because I am not the perfect son."

Odin sighed and closed his eye, shaking his head. Loki smirked, knowing he had struck a chord somewhere within his stone-hearted father.

"Why do you do this?" Odin asked. Loki was surprised that his tone was pained, weary, and—dare he say it—_old_. He was surprised…and yet he forced himself not to care. "I have tried to protect you, and yet you throw it back in my face. Why do you _hate_ me? What have I done to deserve this?"

"Hate you?" Loki laughed ruefully. "There isn't a strong enough word to describe what I feel for you. I have no reason to _love _you! You have done nothing but lie to me about who I truly am. Have you protected me by confining me to the palace? Were you keeping me safe when you stole me from Jötunheim? Or when you massacred my people? Tell me, _All-Father_, why _shouldn't _I hate you? How exactly how do you think you are going to keep me safe _now?_"

His words rang hollow and true throughout the great hall. If the Jötun received word of the Trickster God 'languishing' away in the royal palace of Asgard, not even Odin would be able to prevent retaliation. All of Asgard would be endangered and the Nine Realms would plunge into another long and bloody war, a war neither side could afford. Asgard still smarted over the crumbling of the wall, and the remnants of the Vanir were thirsty to spill the blood of the Aesir. The gods had made themselves enemies and there was no doubt in Loki's mind that the Jötun would gladly join forces with others if it meant they stood a chance at bringing down the greatest of the realms. Beside him, Frigga looked up with tears in her eyes, mouth partially opened as she whispered at him to remember his promise to her, and to remember who he was. Loki shook himself free of her grasp and took several steps back.

"I have little faith in your abilities," Loki stated, once more addressing the king. "Name my punishment so I may leave. I find my desire to stay waning."

Odin's face colored—for a moment Loki thought he had won, that he would be sent to one of the other realms, into exile where he would finally have some peace and quiet. It was not to be so. Odin slammed Gungnir against the floor in one powerful stroke. Loki stumbled, feeling the floor move beneath his feet like a wave upon the ocean, rolling and swelling. Cresting beneath his boots and stealing his balance out from under him. He landed hard against the foot of the stairs and winced, his ribs having taken the brunt of the damage. The floor continued to shake until Frigga announced that such an unnecessary display of power was _enough_, and Odin conceded. He stared down at his youngest, who lay on the floor with tousled hair and flushed cheeks, rage swelling up within him at the indignity of being felled so swiftly and easily. Loki got to his feet with as much dignity as he could spare, sending his father an evil look. Odin glared back and the air between them seemed to sizzle with tension. Frigga bit her lip and ascended the stairs, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder and whispering something in his ear, something Loki couldn't hear. He could not hate Frigga…but he felt his respect for her dwindle in that moment.

"Yes," he seethed, "yes, spread your whispers and rumors! Go ahead and pretend I am not here, that I am invisible. Act as though I hear and see nothing—am I supposed to be the blind, obedient son of Odin? Am I not my _own_ man? Do I not have ears of my own and eyes that see? I can see you whispering, I can hear the slither of lies as they leave your lips, so do not try and cajole me with simple stories and your shining hopes for I am to become. Tell me! _What are you saying?_"

Frigga turned to him, shocked that he would speak up against her. Her grip on Odin's shoulder tightened and she shook her head, a tear trailing from her eye as she tried to retract what had been an obvious mistake.

"My son, you misunderstand," she said, but got no further. Loki waved his hand with a sneer on his face.

"You have disappointed me," he said, and he truly did sound sorrowful. "I had thought you understood my heart…but now I see it was all just a ruse. I had thought better of you, Mother."

"Stop this foolishness," Odin said, straining not to shout, as Frigga had encouraged him. "You have grown paranoid in the time you spent away. We do not seek to spread lies about you, my son. We wonder only about what to say to calm your rage."

"Do not assume you can deceive the Deceiver," Loki laughed. "I see through all lies, and I see through _yours_. You want to banish me, is that it? Let me guess: you want me to leave and never return because I have brought such shame and ruin upon the house of Odin that no simple punishment can ever be enough to repair the damage. Is that it then? Is that what you want of me?"

Frigga turned away and began to cry in earnest, unable to stomach the cruelties her son spout in their direction. Her husband stood rock steady, never wavering, never blinking, and never making any indication that Loki's words were hurtful. He waited, like all good kings do, to see what would come next. He had known the hurt ran deep in his youngest…but he had never understood just how much it had affected Loki's mind until then. His paranoia and suspicion were ruled by the belief that everyone was out to get him. He saw nothing but the very worst in those around him, even families and friends, and it pained Odin to see that the darkness had all but consumed Loki's mind. He could not think of where he had gone wrong as a parent; he had done his utmost to bring both boys up according to standard, but with the knowledge that Loki's heritage would take him down a path separate of Thor's. Though he had done his best ensure all the leadership skills necessary for ruling a kingdom were instilled in both boys, inevitably Loki's true nature began to emerge.

What was a man to do when his youngest son began to pilfer spell books from the library, three at time, all of them as wide as a broadsword blade? What was a man to do when said son also chose to remain in his room for long periods of time, or ran away completely, just to ensure a bit of privacy as he began practicing his first magic? He remembered, ages ago, Thor and Loki began to change; Thor was easy to figure out. He was loud and proud, boasted an enormous appetite and reveled in sparring, horseback-riding, adventuring, and all other sport that would make any father proud. He had his swords and his clubs, and preferred heavier weapons more suited for his larger, stockier frame. Loki, on the other hand, was quiet and withdrawn, slender and tall. He ate about as much as Thor, but not all at once, and he preferred sleek weapons, small daggers he could throw at enemies, a light bow crafted by elves, and arrows capable of turning their targets into dust, as well as various whips and tools to augment his rapidly growing powers. He was skilled with the staff and had crafted some sort of fighting style that included the pole as a means by which he might fling himself around in circles, spinning and kicking out at his foes. Odin had never seen a man with as straight an aim as Loki, and in Asgard there were too few who practiced the art of sorcery.

He supposed, then, that things had begun to go wrong around that time. Both Thor and Loki were two very different young men. Thor was easier to deal with on a day to day basis. He was so much like Odin that they had no trouble getting along, though they did butt heads more often than once. Thor was everything Odin had brought him up to be, the very picture of success and the future king of Asgard. Loki was…he was _different_, he much preferred to keep with his magic and books. Odin could not relate to Loki, but he had never stopped loving him, never stopped being proud of him…but perhaps he had, especially as of late, stopped expressing his feelings toward his younger son. Odin knew the both of them would have made great rulers, and that is how he had raised them—both born to be kings, but only one to ascend the throne of Asgard. Loki was intelligent and witty, could make almost anyone laugh with a clever bit of magic or fast words; he had always been better with words, but Odin needed only a few to get his own point across... Would it have been too much for him to say a few kind words every now and then, a few well-placed compliments after an impressive display of skills? It would not have hurt, and yet Odin had said nothing. He had said nothing because he had not known what to say, or, perhaps, he had not known _how_ say it.

Now he feared it was much too late.

"No," Odin said, softly this time. "No, I do not want to see you exiled. Not you and not that fate. I had planned something else. Something more…befitting of your crime."

"And what might that be, _All-Father_," Loki scoffed, throwing his hands apart.

"You are to meet with ambassadors from Jötunheim in precisely three months," Odin said, staring into Loki's green eyes and wondering what thoughts were passing through his slippery mind. "I will make all the necessary arrangements, and you will return with them to live out the rest of your days…"

Loki raised his eyebrows and made to speak, to inform his father that banishment was exactly what this sounded like, but Odin was not done. He heaved a heavy sigh and raised a weathered hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, massaging the small muscle above his eye before finishing.

"The rest of your days, my son…as King."

The smirk instantly struck from his face, Loki could do little more than stare, dumbfounded, at his father. Had he even heard rightly? Was Odin making an ill-timed attempt at jest (and a rather poor one, at that)? There was simply no explanation for such a-a…Loki scarcely knew _what _to call it, but he certainly knew what _not _to call it. Whatever it was, it was poor and lacking the sort of finesse Loki had grown accustomed to when spinning his own webs of deceit. If it was a lie, it was an ugly one. If it was the truth…he refused to let himself believe that. For the very first time, he seriously considered the possibility that insanity ran throughout the entire family. It would justify this…_laughable_ excuse of a punishment. The smile he forced onto his face was shaky and brittle, threatening to crumble with the slightest provocation.

"You're joking," he said. "That is…if that is your idea of a punishment…it is a very _foolish_ decision."

"No," Odin said, perhaps with relish, "it is the best decision I can make for you, under the circumstances."

"You _are_ serious," Loki grimaced, turning away and bringing his knuckle to his mouth. He bit down and looked about the room, not sure what to think or say, and certainly not sure what he should _do_.

"Do not run from this too," Odin said, seeing that his son was on the verge of panicking, or perhaps something far worse. "You _will_ be king of Jötunheim, Loki. It is the only way I know how to save you."

"_Save_ me?" Loki shrieked, turning back around, eyes wide with horror and mouth askew with the last traces of a wayward smirk that all to quickly turned into a snarl of rage. "_Save me?_ By sending me to live amongst those I once tried to _destroy?_ How is that considered '_saving'_ me?" He looked at his mother, who offered no condolence and then his voice turned hysterical in less time than it took to consider his words. "This is _not_ punishment, it's—it's _murder!_ Have you _lost_ your senses?"

"_Loki!_" Odin thundered in reproach, but he needn't say anything else.

Loki fled the room, flinging the doors to the throne wide open with a burst of magic. Frigga ran halfway down the throne steps before realizing she would not be able to catch her son or stop him in time.

"Stop him!" she cried, turning to her husband, the expression of pain on her face _so deep_ Odin thought it would take his breath away. "My love, _please!_" Frigga begged.

"What would you have me do?" Odin asked, setting Gungnir down by his throne.

"He is your _son!_ You _will_ go after him!"

"If he does not wish to talk to me, then I have no desire to—"

"Odin. You seem to believe that I am giving you a choice in this matter. You _will_ go out and you _will_ find your son! You _will_ speak to him and you _will_ bring him back to me."

Odin stared into his wife's face, wet with tears and eyes shimmering with the promise of more to come should he refuse her. He swore that she used those tears of hers as a weapon, and she wielded them as skillfully as any warrior with a sword. He could not say 'no' to her.

"I am not going to lose him again," Frigga said, her voice a mere whisper. Odin nodded and stroked her cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

"I will not let him leave us," he promised.

Odin pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and then, with a speed that belied his age, hurried down the rest of the steps and rushed out the door, following the trail of minor destruction Loki had wreaked upon the hall: scorch marks on the walls, spiders plastered to the columns, covering the gold with black smears, and the two guards at the end of the hall who had tried to prevent him from leaving turned to stone. Odin all but ran out the door and caught sight of his son's dark head bobbing as he descended the palace steps, taking two and three at a time, all but running for his very life. He probably thought he _was_ running for his life, after what Odin had told him.

"Loki!" Odin called out, hoping to halt his son's progress.

Loki sped up.

A crowd gathered at the foot of the steps, already whispering to one another as they saw the Deceiver approach. There were many shocked faces among the small throng; apparently there were those who had not heard of the prince's return. Odin knew that he should just turn around and go back to his throne, that he should put an end to this debacle before he gave the Aesir something worse than the threat of war to gossip about. He was a king. He was a _god_. He was Lord of Asgard and he did _not_ have to put up with the disrespect Loki had shown him…but it wasn't as easy as that and he knew it. He was king and he had responsibilities to his kingdom, but he was also a father. He was a father and he had an obligation to his child that was far greater than that he owed to his people. If he was meant to regret his decision, then he would regret it later. Loki was prevented from escaping by the crowd and Odin had to wonder why he didn't just use his powers if he wanted to leave so badly.

"My _son!_" he called out as he reached the final landing. "Loki, _wait!_"

"No more of your _lies_, father!" Loki howled, spinning around.

The crowd gasped, shocked both at his impertinence and at the sudden change that came over him. Frost spread from beneath his feet, veins of ice crawling outward and reaching into the crowd, anchoring many an onlooker to the ground. His skin flushed blue, dark ink rolling over his pale skin until no trace of Aesir remained. His eyes bled and turned crimson, and the blood trails drew the pattern over his skin that could only defined as Jötun markings. Somewhere within the crowd a girl screamed.

"Is this it then?" Loki asked, throwing his arms wide, gesturing to those around them. "Is this what you want of me? _Utter_ humiliation? You weren't content to leave me in exile and so you brought me back, for the sole purpose of seeing to my destruction yourself?"

"Don't be a child," Odin retorted, ignoring the crowd's stares. "No one wishes to see you destroyed. You are overreacting!"

"_Yeessss_," Loki hissed, placing a long-fingered hand on his chest and bending over in a mockery of a bow. "Yes, _see_ how Odin treats those not of his blood! You _never_ found me worthy! All you wanted from me were the keys to the throne of Jötunheim!"

"They were never mine to take!" Odin barked, descending the last few steps so that he stood on the same even ground as his son. "Jötunheim has always been yours, Loki. You were always meant for its throne."

"_You lied to me!_"

"I hid the truth from you because you were not ready! Looking at you know…I can see that I was right. You are still not ready to face the truth."

Loki threw his hand out and a spear of ice crafted itself from thin air, placing its shaft directly into his palm. Loki leapt at his father and a collective gasp rang out as everyone feared the safety of the All-Father, but Odin was not without his defense. He grabbed hold of the spear and broke it in half, sending Loki sprawling back against the ground. The ice shattered and melted instantly, leaving the crowd free to retreat, which most of them wisely did. Odin looked down at his son, an expression of grief twisting his weathered face.

"Stop this," he asked, watching Loki get to his feet again.

"I will _not_ go to Jötunheim," the Trickster panted, dark Jötun blood trickling from his lip where he had bit himself. "You cannot send me there and expect me to survive."

"There is a treaty," Odin hurried to say, seeing something of resignation in his son's fiery eyes, "we have a plan; I would not send you away only to watch you be butchered like a sacrifice! Why can you not trust me?"

Loki inhaled, desperate for air to fill his weary lungs, and the sob that sprang forth was not of his doing. He dropped his hands to his sides and hung his head. From where he stood, Odin could see tears. Reminded of Frigga, all he wanted to do was approach his son and pull him into a hug—a hug that was, he realized, long overdue.

"Loki," he said, taking a cautious step forward, "my beloved son, _look at me_. You know, in your heart of hearts, that I would never knowingly cause you pain. You are my _joy_. Please…promise me you will come back to the palace and hear your mother and me out. Promise me you will listen to our proposal. _Please_…I am begging you."

Loki had never known his father to beg, not to anyone or for anything, and he certainly never begged his children. He looked up and wiped his chin with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his jaw as he tried to wipe it away. His dark hair fell across his forehead and dangled in his eyes. His posture was one of defeat, all hunched shoulders and bent knees. He was tired and he was frightened, he reeked of sulfur and black magic, and he had revealed his true form to several dozen Aesir. His day was completely spoiled and he had made his mother cry. He faced a lifetime as king of Jötunheim, heir to a throne he did not want (nor deserved), and his father was disappointed…again. He knew his choices at this point: flee and be mocked for his cowardice but live to fight another day, fight now and be beaten in front of the crowd until what was left of his dignity died, or consent to his father's terms and accept his punishment like a man. For Loki, the choice would have been a simple one two years ago. Now, however, he found it hard to concentrate.

"Why don't you love me as you love Thor?" he gasped, his words warbled and guttural as he held his hand to his bruised side, wishing the pain was more intense so that he wouldn't have to speak or think. "Why am I not good enough for you?"

"I _do_ love you," Odin said, covering a few more feet so that he stood close enough to touch. "I love you with all my heart…it is my fault, for not…for not showing how much I care."

"You lied to me…"

"If I lied," Odin sighed, "it was for your own good. I never meant to deceive you. It was never my intention to _hurt_ you. I only sought your happiness. I see now that I could have been more liberal in your bringing up. I…can you forgive an old man his faults?"

That his father was asking forgiveness was almost too much for Loki to handle. He shook his head, mouth gaping as if unable to close, feeling so very close to being sick he didn't see the man pushing his way through the crowd behind him, didn't sense his golden presence until it was far too late, didn't even _feel_ the hand on his shoulder, turning him around, forcing him to see… Thor looked down at him, his face ghostly pale, eyes round and wide, horrified; Loki looked back, unable to breathe and unable to move. No…no this wasn't happening to him. This _wasn't_ happening.

"Loki," Thor said and his voice trembled as much as his hand as it came to caress the runes on his brother's cheek. Before their skin could meet, though, Loki snapped out of his stupor and shoved Thor back.

"Not you," he moaned, "no, _never you!_"

Loki Silver-Tongue melted into the ground as a slithering pile of slimy, inky-black eels, all of which seeped into the ground through the cracks and the grooves. Thunder crackled overhead, where large storm clouds already gathered.

That day, blood rained on on the fair Realm of Asgard.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Well, this is pretty short compared to most other chapters, but since it's only a filler I thought this was acceptable. I'm sorry for taking so long on this one, I haven't been very inspired lately, even though I know what I want to write. Loki's been giving me difficulty. Anyway, enjoy this piece, short as it is and hopefully I'll have the next chapter out relatively soon-ish.**

**Thanks for reading and as always, please review!**

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><p><strong><span>Bridges to Cross<span>**

**3. Thor and the Warriors Three**

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><p>Bjorn stormed into the tavern and threw the wet, soaking bundle of feathers on the table, surprising the three other men who sat there. The sodden bundle reeked of death and plague, stained with blood and riddled by scorch marks as it was. The entire tavern ceased its collective voice, the buzz of conversation and the sharp howl of laughter dying down as a bud in the face of early frost. The farmer stood there, fists clenched at his sides and shivering angrily as he looked the room over, daring <em>anyone <em>to say a word against him. The patrons took hold of their tankards and removed themselves from the table, straying back to the bar were they didn't feel the threat of contamination so acutely.

"That was a horrible thing to do," one man complained, drawing a gloved hand through his golden hair. "We never treated _you_ in such a way so as to warrant rotting carcasses thrown in the midst of our drink! Perhaps Hogun and I shall toss a boar at your dinner table while your family gathers around?"

"A boar would be a fine prize, seeing as how most of my stock is dead and bloated with the stench of blood-rain," Bjorn said bitterly, tearing his hat off his heat and scrubbing his sweaty forehead with his sleeved arm.

"Oh?" the man said, lifting an eyebrow. "And what has caused the gods to become angry with a good and honest man such as yourself? Blood and fire? _Do _tell."

"Hold thy tongue, Fandral," Volstagg said, shooting his friend a stern look usually reserved for children and whelps. "Can't you see the man is distraught? Come Bjorn, don't mind this insolent philanderer; he has forgotten how to hold his drink."

Fandral rolled his eyes and pretended to be insulted, but the mead was warm and soothing and he felt no ill will toward this poor farmer. Hogun snorted and clapped Fandral on the shoulder, shoving him back toward the table.

"Sit down," he said, "before you fall over. Let's listen to what tale Bjorn has to offer us. Perhaps it will be something we may use…"

"Please," Volstagg said, waving a giant hand, "blood from the skies? As if it is a mystery as to which foul denizen is behind this latest atrocity."

"Aye," Bjorn said, plopping down into one of the chairs offered him and curling his stiff, frozen fingers around the warm flagon set down in front of him. "I heard tell of the younger Odinson fleeing Asgard after being discovered a Jötun. That miserable trickster has always plagued our farmlands with locusts and hail."

"How do you know it is not simply the _weather?_" Volstagg asked, his whiskers quivering.

"B-Because!" Bjorn said angrily, "He is a mischief-maker! It brings him pleasure! What other reason would he have?"

"Perhaps it is merely the weather," Hogun spoke up, smirking into his tankard. "Or perhaps you misjudge him."

"He is a vile _wretch_—"

"He is a prince of Asgard!"

"And a cowardly Jötun! You _know_ he is the cause of this! Am I not right? _Am I a liar?_"

Bjorn stood up and addressed the entire tavern, screaming until all patrons looked his way. His flyaway white hair stood on end and his eyes gleamed with rage; spittle flew from his mouth and his entire face turned red with the effort it took him to hold back what surely was a veritable storm that not even good drink could soothe.

"_Everyone_ saw!" he screamed. "Everyone knows what he is! Who _didn't_ stand in that circle, horrified as the ice fastened their feet in place, and watched as Loki's skin turned as cold and blue as the very heart of Jötunheim itself? _We all saw what he is!_ He is a _monster!_"

A couple men shifted nervously in their seats. It was one thing to complain of the Trickster's myriad of pranks and mischievous, but it was another thing entirely to _condemn_ him for his heritage. As fresh a topic as it was for the Aesir, it was not something the common folk should speak so freely of, and certainly not in a crowded tavern where word would surely make it back to Odin's ear. No one yet knew what the All-Father planned to do with his adopted son—or for that matter, if anything was to be done _at all_.

"Sit down and drink, you old fool!" a younger man said nervously, his eyes darting about the room as if he expected Odin himself to charge forth with Gungnir. "You speak like a man possessed! The Silvertongue has done nothing that he hasn't before! Drink your mead and return to your wife and children!"

"_Nay!_" Bjorn hollered, stamping his feet against the floor and slamming his tankard over the table, spilling his mead everywhere. "Nay I will _not_ go home! Not until something is done about this—this _creature_ who dares walk the halls of Odin's Keep! There is a _monster_ in Asgard! A Frost Giant, a, a _murderer!_ How long have we suffered their existence? Every Odinsleep we prepare to hide our families and livestock, every year for a week we prepare to rebuild our homes—why I ask you? _Why? _Because of Jötun! Cowardly, evil, Hel-spawned _Jötun!_"

"Asgard protects us!" another voice rose up. "Noble Thor and even Prince Loki! Forget that, old man?"

"A few good deeds cannot excuse a man his many sins!"

"Bjorn is right, a Jötun _cannot_ be prince of Asgard!"

"_Treason!_"

Drunk with the sudden show of support for his outburst, Bjorn climbed on top of the table and raised his fist into the air, staring down into the many different faces that looked up at him.

"The people of Asgard deserve _better!_" he cried. "We deserve _justice! _ We demand the Jötun's _head!_"

"_**HOW DARE YOU?**_"

The crowd parted, moved by some invisible force that bespoke leagues of rage. The rumble of thunder from overhead made the very ground shake; a chair toppled over and glass tumblers fell from the shelves to shatter upon the floor. The air filled suddenly with the crackle of electricity, commanding every hair on even the strongest of arms to rise. Heavy footfalls echoed throughout the room and many dropped their gaze to the floor, their knees quaking in fear. Hogun the Grim, Fandral the Dashing, and Volstagg the Voluminous stood behind Bjorn with their arms crossed over their chests and grim, matching looks of determination etched onto their faces, like statues made of stone.

Thor stepped forward, his blue eyes hardened chips of ice that begged no mercy. Mjolnir sang at his hip, her mighty head all but glowing as his rage mounted. Patrons drew back, pressing themselves into their comrades and a few slinking beneath the tables, eager to find shelter from that terrible gaze. Whereas before they had stood before Bjorn, whose word lashed out like a whip, they now cowered before Thor, whose word was thunder and lightning and the very might of the gods itself. Here was a man not to be toyed with; here was a man not to stand for the slander of his name or the name of his family…let alone the name of his brother.

Bjorn stood atop the table, eyes bugging from his weathered skin and his mouth sagging open like a torn sack. Thor approached slowly; every footstep issued a crack of thunder, every breath a hurricane's gale at the tavern door, and the clench of his fist wrought lightning forth to rend the very skies in half. The simple farmer trembled, then fell to his knees in the mead he had spilled, clasping his hands before him like a child begging for mercy. Tears fell down his wizened cheeks and the front of his pants darkened as his bladder relieved itself. Never before had Bjorn sat in the presence of a _god_…and he felt that never again would he possess the chance.

Thor stared down at the little man cowering atop the table, soaked in tears and his own waste. It mattered little to the Thunderer what whispers he heard inside tavern walls, but when those same whispers concerned that which was his, he took note. When commoners spoke out against the House of Odin, when anyone _dared_ slander the name of his brother, Thor was ready. He stopped a foot away from the table, hand on Mjolnir as a passive threat.

"**You dare seek to cause strife against the House of Odin?**" Thor asked, his voice magnified, horrid, both grating and melodious as he allowed every inch of his godhood to affect his being. The entire tavern shook again, this time from his words alone.

"**You dare condemn a Son of Asgard?**" he continued. "**You dare bring cry against that which he has no control? Who are **_**you**_** that gives you the **_**right**_** to pass judgment? Who are **_**you**_** that **_**gods**_** should heed your word? **_**Who are you?**_"

Bjorn could not speak. His face paled, drained entirely of color so that his pallor was that a freshly snowed field. He shook convulsively and wept, the only thing he could do as he bowed in half upon the table, curled into a pitiful ball. Thor stared down at him, the small, weak, commoner he was, and he stayed his hand. His point had been made. No one else would _dare_ say a word about his brother. Hogun neared, arms still crossed over his chest, and leaned in.

"Lord," he said quietly, "Bjorn was not without reason; Prince Loki has allowed this obscene weather to pass over the lands for far too long."

"And what would you have me do about it," Thor growled, his voice no long glorified, but soft and disgruntled.

"Speak to him," Hogun said. "Go to him and do nothing more than speak—listen, if he requires your ear—but let him know that he is your brother. It would do him good to remember that."

Thor smirked and edged around the table, setting a few gold coins on the end of the bar to pay both his tab and what little damage had been caused. The Warriors Three paid their dues as well and followed him outside, where the sweltering heat of the rain had passed through with the storm clouds. In the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed; Thor looked off in the distance, his expression wistful, one of the most sincere regret.

"You never cared for my brother," he stated. "Why give me such advice now?"

"_Because_ he is your brother," Hogun said. "There are some things, my friend, that transcend even the boundaries of dislike. He is your brother and you are needed. Go to him."

"What could I possibly do for Loki?"

"Whatever needs to be done," Fandral spoke up, smiling in that charmingly disarming way of his. "Would you not do _anything_ to help him? You've already braved all of Jötunheim to bring him back."

"And he is family," Volstagg put in. "Nothing more important than family!"

Thor looked into their smiling faces, in awe at their understanding, their friendship, and their _compassion_… He did not deserve such comrades, but if e'er he did, he could choose none wiser or more kind. Few besides Loki could anticipate his needs in such a way. Thor grinned and shook his head, humbled by such devotion.

"You are the very best of friends," he said. "I do not know what I would do without you."

"You'd have kept drinking," Fandral snorted. "That much is certain."

"Go find Loki," Hogun said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, directed more toward Fandral than Thor.

"Aye," Thor sighed. "I suppose I shall."

Without further word he took hold of mighty Mjolnir and whirled her around, finally hurling her forward and letting her weight carry him off. The Warriors Three watched until their Lord was naught more than a speck on the horizon.

"Do you think…?" Volstagg asked, his words trailing off.

"Aye, I do," said Hogun.

"Think what?"

Heavy sighs shook the earth as blood clouds began to gather, the same ones that always seemed to chase the storm, nowadays. Volstagg and Hogun clamped an arm around Fandral's shoulders and led him back inside to buy him another tankard of mead. At least now they needn't worry for Thor's wrath bringing the place down upon their heads.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Welp. I am a terrible person. I have no excuse. I was sucked into tumblr(blame tumblr). But here is the next chapter, and I shall try to finish the last one sometime soon. Forgive me, and thank you EVERYONE who has faved this story even though it's been like a million years. I hope everyone enjoys, regardless of how long it's been. I love you all!**

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><p><strong><span>Bridges to Cross<span>**

**4. Thor**

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><p>Loki sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes downcast as he stared at a small bug, covered in ice and frozen to the floor. Such a sturdy little beetle it had been, bright and shiny black, six little legs ever moving, every carrying its awkward body toward some secret destination. So durable in its own might, and yet so fragile compared to the whims of men and gods alike. All he needed to do was step on it and the beetle would be no more, as if it had never existed. Would anyone mourn its name? Was that what fate had in store for it? If he were to kill the beetle, would he be carrying out fate's plan? If so, could he <em>defy<em> that force by allowing the bug to live? Would it matter, in the grand scheme of things, if one little insect were to just…disappear? Loki lifted his foot and held his heel over the beetle, biting his lip and willing himself to just do it, to just end the miserable little wretch's life…but he couldn't. He couldn't because…because he saw something of himself in the bug, something that made him reel back in disgust at himself. What was he?

_Jötun_, his mind supplied, _freak, warmonger, __**monster**_.

His skin felt cold beneath his own touch. He had always noticed how the heat had bothered him more than it did Thor, and he had, of course, noticed that he never caught the chill quite so easily; cold weather scarcely concerned him and he even felt _more_ energized during the cold seasons. How he had not realized what he was beforehand, how _Thor_ hadn't…well, perhaps Thor _wouldn't_ have noticed. The oaf had always been more concerned with his own handsome looks than to waste any time worrying about his brother. He was golden and bright, blond-haired and blue-eyed, the very picture of what an Aesir should look like. There was no doubt who he belonged to, _no doubt _that he was the son of Odin All-Father and Frigga. Loki had never fit in, it seemed, as he had always been dark-headed and pale, with eerie green eyes that seemed to grow brighter when mischief was afoot, and a slender physique that he somehow maintained no matter much he ate. He did not look Aesir. He did not even look as though he were sired by those who claimed title of parent. And Thor, poor, _gullible_, Thor, accepting him by word alone, accepting him no matter what he looked like, accepting, _always_ so _damned_ accepting of their brotherhood. Loki could only imagine the thoughts Thor might've had upon seeing the wretched blue pallor of his skin, the crimson of his eyes and the tribal runes etched into his face…there was no denying Loki was Jötun.

His entire room bore testament to his true heritage; great, sharp icicles hung from the ceiling as stalactites, frosted, dangerous, and beautiful. Ice spread over the entirety of the floor, suffocating books and precious materials used for spells and concoctions he had no desire to dabble in for the time being, perhaps never again should that be his wish. Everything was shining and fragile, like the beetle he had breathed upon, the one he had actually _killed_ hours ago. Death. Death would be good, he mused. Death meant no more humiliation at the hands of those he once loved. It meant freedom from his current prison, his life spent trapped in a role that was not truly his to play, pretending to be the son that _wasn't_, the Nothing Prince…and soon to be the Nothing King. If he agreed to Odin's terms, he would likely be dead within the month, if not week, assassinated by his own subjects; an ironic and befitting end, seeing how he once sought to eliminate his entire race. _His_ race, Loki's, as though he were so entirely different from the adoptive Aesir that he required the validation of an entire separate culture to explain _why_.

Loki sought no answers, for he knew there was nothing anyone could say that would soothe his troubled mind. What word could undo that which nature had wrought? What sweet, simpering condolences could change the course of time and history? He desired nothing. He desired _no one_. Neither words (that which had long been his comfort and his shield) nor company (idle playthings, more often than not) could soothe him. Not even the thought of his mother's warm hand against his forehead brought a spark of longing within him. She had as good as betrayed him. She had allowed this to happen and had not seen fit to warn him. Whatever tender words had passed between them were withered things, like browned leaves falling from a tree before winter, fluttering helplessly in the wind only to suffer death before the frost. What hurt the most, if he cared to label the pain he felt, was the fact that Frigga obviously sided with Odin. She thought sending him to Jötunheim was a punishment befitting of the crime of betraying all of Asgard.

He'd rather _die_.

He'd rather be beheaded; he'd rather his eyes be torn from their sockets, his tongue ripped out and his lips sewn shut. He'd rather be flayed alive and salted than be forced to return to the land of his birth—a land, not to mention, he knew very little about. Were he even permitted to _actually_ rule, he knew nothing of the people or kingdom. There was only Asgard. Asgard and Hel. How sad that he much preferred the thought of Hel, in all its black comfort, than the icy realm he was being forced to rule. Well, they could not force him to take the throne; maybe if he refused they would simply agree to behead him. He thought of the executioner's block and he thought of axe, rising and falling against his neck, his head dropping, **thunk thunk thunk **across the wooden platform until it rolled right off the edge, bloodied and dirtied with eyes and mouth wide open, staring and unseeing. How absolutely _plain_. He had never given a thought to dying; could the gods ever truly _die?_ If it were possible, he would not want it to be this way, not in so common a fashion, not while shamed and disgraced. No, there were other ways, surely…

A knock resounded upon the door, hesitant in rhythm, yet loud and resigned, followed by the soft and muted words of his brother, asking permission to enter. So shocked Loki was that the 'yes' fell from his lips before he could think better of it. The door creaked open and Thor stuck his great, shaggy head through the space provided, scoping the environment out before fully entering the room. Loki watched his brother's expression carefully, gauging what foolish, moronic thoughts tripped over one another in their haste to be foremost at Thor's mind. The oaf scarcely had room for _one_ thought, let alone two; t'would be amusing to see which found its way to his tongue first. Thor closed the door behind him, his warm hand scraping the brittle ice from the curved handle. His heavy boots broke the surface of the thin layer coating the floor, but his gaze set upon everywhere _but_ his feet. Loki felt a sneer curl his lips.

_Yes, __**brother**_, he thought, _take a good look—take a __**damn**__ good look around you. __**This**__ is what I am. __**This**__ is my __**true**__ nature._

He sat on the edge of his bed, back ramrod straight and shoulders set, his posture reflecting every inch of him as the prince he was, and not the monster he was intended to be. Both hands rested atop his thighs, loose and long-fingered, colored deep blue and black-nailed. His sleeveless tunic bared his sleek arms and he did not bother to hide his face. Why bother with such vanities? There was no more hiding what he was, no more need for masks or, ironically, deceit. What more could he lie about? Thor had seen his face, had seen that hideous and monstrous part of him that mocked everything that had once made their brotherhood strong. How many times could he recall where they had run through and about the courtyards, pretending to slay entire Jötun armies? How many times had he offered to play the part of Frost Giant, just for the sake of a 'realistic' sparring session? How many times had he lain upon the ground while Thor rested a boot atop his chest in victory? The things Thor must have thought, the disgust he must have _felt_, knowing he had shared the majority of his life with a Jötun _runt_… Loki's sneer intensified as he silently urged Thor to say something, _anything_ so they might begin their war anew…and yet his 'brother' remained silent as he picked his way through the room, drawing ever closer to where Loki sat, poised like a bird ready to take flight…except there was no place for him to run. Unable to stand the thick silence hovering over them, Loki folded his hands together and leaned against his knees.

"Come to gloat?" he asked quietly, fixing Thor with his frightening crimson glare. Thor looked up, shocked disbelief on his face, followed swiftly by a strange hurt that made Loki's heart pound.

"What are you talking about?" Thor asked, stepping over a mound of books and the frozen remnants of candles used in Loki's last incantation.

His skin shone pale and colorless, and whether it was brought on by the chill in the room or disgust, Loki did not know. He cared only that everything about the golden son of Odin looked far less golden, as if the room somehow sapped him of life, color, and spirit. His reflection pitted on the iced walls cast him in a distorted light, imperfect and diminished in some way that inflated Loki's pride. He stared at the mirror-image as though it walked about the room instead of his brother, and he wondered what mad ritual he might perform to exchange perfection for defection; then they might share a life of misery together, as two pitiful creatures, alone. How utterly _perfect_ such a glum life would be! How they might languish in each other's company, how poison might flow between them, carried by the rabidity of their words. How they might tear at each other's throats, how they might scratch and bite and claw until they were bloodied and sick. How wonderful a dream, how hideously beautiful it would have been…. But, of course, it could never be, not when perfect Thor stood there, perfectly tall and golden, and opened his perfect mouth to let perfectly stupid sentiments fall out.

"I came to see _you_," he said, forcing the perfection of his pity onto Loki.

How _terrible_. Loki would have _preferred_ disgust and hatred for this unasked-for sympathy. _Pity_. Who needed such a tasteless, useless thing?

"Why?" Loki snorted. "This skin is nothing new to you—how many Jötun _scum_ have you slain? You need not _see_ me to know me."

"You speak in riddles," Thor frowned. "Your words mean to both disarm and beg pity. I came to see if you were…upset. I came to see if you were _alright_…. I could care less for the color of your skin."

_Oh,_ Loki thought, _how __**noble**__._ How noble of him to completely disregard his 'brother's' race; no doubt he did so only because Moth—that _woman_ begged him to show mercy to the weak, stunted Jötun. No doubt Thor saw barely a challenge in Loki's diminished _true_ form.

"How thoughtful of you," he whispered, looking up to his uninvited guest. "Did the queen put you up to this? Or the All-Father? Come now, don't look at me as though you are some witless _fool_…you are smarter than that, I would hope."

"I do not know why you are doing this," Thor swallowed, "But you are wrong on both counts. I am here of my own choice."

"I don't believe you."

"That is _your_ choice, my brother. It changes nothing. I am here because I am _worried_."

Loki sneered and took up a book that lay by his thigh, grasped it by its brittle pages and felt them crack beneath his fingertips. He flung the tome as hard as he could toward Thor's fat head. It missed, but just barely. The look of fury that creased that handsome face, though…_so_ worth the trouble. His fists clenched and his jaw set, stiff and unyielding, as hard as Mjolnir itself. To hand him his weapon in that moment would be to unleash Hel, and Loki very nearly looked forward to it.

_And now_, Loki thrilled, _**now**_ _we shall see what he truly thinks! Now we will see __**true**__ Thor, the man who cares not for masks and pretenses, but makes bold with his lofty opinions!_

"You are the worst liar I have ever met," he jeered, fanning that spark of rage he saw ignite within Thor. "Yours is an open face, one prone to honesty out of some noble idea that it is better to remain truthful than be caught in the wily throes of deceit…so _tell_ me, _Brother_…why are you _here?_"

Thunder cracked overhead and Loki could picture _just_ how the dark, angry clouds clashed and swirled; he could imagine those great thunderheads building and mounting, swelling with rage, preparing to unleash all hell upon Asgard. He had seen his brother summon storms to rival the realms themselves, sweeping nations of cloud formations that turned black and grey and threatened rain and hail and ice, winds of speeds unknown to even the swiftest horse, and lightning and thunder that was known to deafen giants. Loki had seen these storms topple mountains and raze cities. He had seen the very worst…and he could see it now, in his mind's eye.

He could even see the faces of those dimwitted and sheep-like followers upon Midgard, those worshipers who might look to the burgeoning sky and wonder who or what incurred the Lord Thor's wrath this day—Loki no doubt, they would whisper, Loki and his mischief, causing trouble once more. He nearly crowed with delight at the thought, for though his mother and father might formulate plans to tuck him away un some frozen corner of Yggdrasil, though they might try to blanket him with a crown far too large for his stature, and though they might bequeath unto him his own death sentence, Loki would _never_ be forgotten, not by the gods, not by the Jötun, and not by the mortals. Wherever Thor's thunder begat the question, "Who hath angered our Lord?" the answer would follow, as simple and natural a response as anything: "Loki's mischief is afoot." He would be immortalized in the wake of Thor's wrath, cloaked in his shadow and riding the bolts of lightning that fell to Midgard. In Thor's anger, there would always be Loki; in his love, there would always be Loki; in his unending _rage_, there Loki would always be, the dark spot upon the golden horizon, the Betrayer, the Deceiver, the Godkiller…

_Send me to Jötunheim to perish_, he thought as he searched for something else to throw, lest Thor not learn his lesson, _I will live on in the hearts and minds of mortals, trapped in Thor's stead, forever one with this man whom might've been my flesh and blood in another life, and __**always**__ my brother in the lie that brought me to this place!_

"Are you _mad?_" Thor shouted as he shielded his face from another well-aimed missile.

"_YES!" _Loki cried out. "Yes, I am _mad! _I am daft! I have lost myself to the insanity that has pieced our family together all these years, noble Thor, and I have _embraced_ it! I am Loki, He who hath fathered Deceit, and I find that Father begat Son and Son hath begat Father, for was I not borne into a lie the moment Odin first held me in his arms? Was I not clothed in the very _skins_ of falsity and fed the finest of deceits? You too were fooled into thinking I was your bloodkin! So yes, _Brother_, I _am_ mad; 'tis a _wonder_ you have not yet joined me."

He sneered at Thor, _perfect_ Thor, who stood there, mired in profound confusion, hurt and tired. Good, let him wonder, let him wallow in his own ignorance. He, who knew nothing of rejection, naught of hatred; _he_ , who had never known the terrible, cold feeling of being caged in one's own body, who had scarcely known a harsh word, who loved and was loved by all. His 'brother', who knew both mother and father, not as an outsider, but as one whose blood surely _burned_ with the excellence of his heritage. He did not know of pain, not truly, not the pain that came with the knowledge of un-belonging. Thor…he would always have a place in their world, a pedestal erected tall and strong to last ages of gods and eons of men, and to be, like Thor himself, worshiped and loved. And where would Loki stand among these glorious monuments? He would not stand, but rather crawl, on his belly, around the roots of these pillars, hidden, made invisible by the glory of the _true _Aesir. It was his place. It was all he had ever known, and it was all he could ever hope to achieve.

Loki spat at Thor's feet, his gaiety drowned in the sudden revelation. He had nothing anymore, not even pride; he had nothing to his name and barely even _that_, which he did not know was truly his. What if he had been given another name at birth, some name lost to the Frost? What if he was not truly _Loki? _Who would he be then? _What_ would he be?

"I hate you," he whispered, chapped lip moving numbly. "I _hate_ you."

"Brother," Thor said, taking a cautious step forward, "_why?_"

"Because you seek me out for _comfort's_ sake. Because you are not enraged by the mere _sight_ of me…because you do not strike me."

"I would never hit you," Thor hissed, insulted that Loki could even _insinuate_ such a thing.

"And so you have stolen from me the _one_ thing left I could call my own."

"_What?_"

"You have robbed me of _myself_! You have stripped me of my name and my being, and you have disowned me of our brotherhood! You have _left_ me with the skin I was born with, the heritage of the Frost, and you _refuse_ to show me the courtesy of your rage. You, who are _legendary_ for your prowess in battle, who have _never_ before shown mercy to your enemies, who have long _boasted_ of slaying hundreds of Jötun with naught but your bare hands! You say so much and do so little—you refuse to treat me as an enemy, when I so clearly _am_...you have denied me the only identity left to me."

"Loki—"

"I am _not_ your brother. I am Jötun. I am a—a _monster_…you cannot deny this, Thunderer; the color of my skin speaks for itself. I deserve death. I deserve imprisonment and scorn. I deserve to be kept as a pet or a slave…and yet you…_you_ come here…you _dare_ come here, and you _dare_ to gaze upon my terrible form with _kindness_ and _mercy!_ You _dare!_ You _**DARE!**_"

"_Yes I dare!_" Thor roared. Thunder cracked and the entire room trembled; icicles fell and a dusting of drifted lazily from the walls. Loki, having stood up in misery, teeth bared and fists clenched, sat back down upon the bed, eyes wide and mouth agape. To him, Thor looked the part of vengeful wargod, dark eyed, ready to strike him down with the hammer that hung at his hip. Loki wished he would, wished Thor would just take hold of Mjolnir and smash it across his face, just _end_ his life. It would be kinder than sending him to Jötunheim.

"You are _insane_," Thor snapped. "You may sit here and wallow in your pity as you like, but do not sit here and blame those around you for your misery. You _insult_ me with your hateful speech of neglect and disownment. How little you think of yourself you must also think of me, if you believe that I would turn on you simply because it has been made known that you are not blood."

"It is _more_ than that and you know it!" Loki retorted, the middle of his brow creasing in distress. He held his arms out, his fingers splayed and palms facing up, begging Thor to look. "I am a _monster!_ I am the _reason_ children fear the night and the winter! I—I am _nothing_ to you!"

"_No!_ You are _everything_ to me! _Everything!_"

Thor's hands were upon his hands, thick fingers closing about his wrists like vices. Loki winced and tried to withdraw, but Thor was powerful and angry. He pulled Loki from the bed to his feet, and Loki allowed himself to be drawn close to Thor, until he was very nearly held in his brother's arms like a dewy eyed lover. Thor held onto his wrists and pushed them before his face, until his own fingers brushed his cheeks; he saw, to his _horror_, Thor's skin began to blacken and turn brittle with the touch of Loki's skin. He tried to pull away again, but it was no use. He hung there in Thor's grip, unable to summon even the smallest amount of magic with which to defend himself.

"Now you listen to _me_," Thor said, "you listen and you listen _well_—I do not _ever_ want to hear you say such things again. I do not want to _hear_ you question my affection for you; I do not want to _hear_ you question our brotherhood again; I _do not_ want to _hear_ you speak so lowly of yourself, not _ever_ again. Do you understand this?"

Loki shook his head, frantically, because he _did not_ understand. He did not understand how Thor could say such things and mean them.

"You daft old snake," Thor said, giving him a rough shake, though his hands were swiftly bruising with the effort of keeping hold on Loki's flesh. "You _crazed_…I should break your neck for speaking such blasphemy against our family! You think the color of your skin matters to me? You think I rightly _care_ that you are not of our father's loins and mother's womb? After all we have been through, after eons of friendship, after countless ages of men, you would think I would throw something _so_ precious away? Can you justify those nights we would spend curled in bed, sharing tales of old and wishing for the days where we would be men? Those long days spent exploring the forests, hunting, camping, _feasting! _How could you think I would toss those memories away? You think I would take thousands of years and throw it _away?_ Loki, you—you are my _brother_. You have _always_ been my brother. You will always _be_ my brother. Nothing can change that. _Nothing_."

"But—"

"But _nothing_. We are _brothers_. We were babes together. We grew up together. We slept in the same bed until we were nearly young men. We experienced heartbreak and war and death together. We've cried and cowered and laughed together. We have been there for one another since the beginning. That you were adopted is…it is _immaterial_ to me. It does not change the fact that we are brothers…should the very knowledge not make our bond stronger?"

A small noise escaped Loki and he wrenched his hands free of Thor's, stumbled back and struck the bed once more. What was Thor doing? What was Thor _saying?_

"Stronger?" he asked, breathless, hopeless. "How?"

"Because now we are brothers through _choice_, instead of blood."

He choked and covered his mouth. Thor still…still _wanted_ him. There had been nothing within his demeanor, no indication within his tone or his words that said 'You are no longer my brother.' He said, instead, that they were stronger, closer, somehow _more_, despite the facts. He was not Odinson. He was Jötun. He was no prince of golden halls and gleaming towers; he was rightful prince of ice, the unwanted son of a king who had no use for runts. He was…he was _nothing_. He was Loki, Son of None, Prince of Lies and King of _Dirt_. He was the snake that crawled through the mud at their feet, and yet Thor stood there before him, offering his love, offering brotherhood and family, offering him a chance to renew that childhood attachment that had lasted thousands of years. He offered all this and served Loki mercy and forgiveness when others might have laughed and spat in his face. It brought tears to his eyes, thinking how good and noble Thor was, how loving and understanding, how _good_. Loki did not deserve it. He _deserved_ nothing.

"You are…too good," Loki said, voice thick through the emotion welling up in his throat. "You…you are not _real_. No one can be as—as noble and good a man as you…it is not _possible_."

"Aye, it is," Thor sighed, "and I would not have you prove me wrong in this. I would have thought my feelings obvious; after all we have been through, especially these past few months, I would have you believe me when I say that I love you."

The words struck Loki's heart, cleaved it in two where it sat, black and barely beating in his chest. He had not expected such a sweet declaration, but then, he had not expected much of anything. Tears leaked from his eyes at the unexpectedness of the sentiment, and his hand felt to his chest, over his heart, where something came to life. It _hurt_, those first beats of his heart in that moment. It was as if he had never before known the slow pulse of that fat organ until that moment, when Thor dared to give it life by daring to speak those three words that meant more than he could ever know… He cried, though he made little noise, and as he cried Thor took the opportunity to invade his space with a gentle touch to his shoulder and soft, soothing words—Loki's cries turned to sobs and he did not know what else to say in the light of Thor's warm hand squeezing the joint of his shoulder and neck. But, if Thor were to incline his head and tuck his hair behind his ear so that he might better hear the words that dripped from Loki's lips in quiet succession.

"_Thank you, thank you, thank you, __**thank you**_…"


End file.
